Friday, April 3, 2015

I've been asked quite a few times how our !mpact trip to Costa Rica went. I usually come up with some lame dis-jointed comment about how wonderful it was and how much I enjoyed it. Truthfully, I'd like to say a lot more, but some things are hard to express on the spot so I've written them down and although this is quite lengthy, it really only hits a few of the highlights of the trip. - Andrea

__________________________________________________________

I never expected to go on a mission’s trip. Ever. It really
isn’t my thing. Physical discomfort, potential danger, and food dissidence
doesn’t sound like a good time. No thank you.Except that’s not how God works.He doesn’t let you sit and be comfortable. Instead He plants teeny tiny
seeds and watches them grow.He places
little reminders and random thoughts over time until you become uncomfortable
in the very place that you feel comfortable.At least that’s how it was for me.I’ve grown uncomfortable being comfortable.How long am I going to say no? How long will
I insists that it’s someone else’s calling?How long can I remain blissfully unaware while at the same time being
made aware. That’s the road I took to the mission field.I was kicking and screaming at one point, then
listening and considering, and then seeking and running towards.By the time our church presented the idea of
a family !mpact trip to Costa Rica my heart was ready.

Sunday

In some ways I felt prepared to see the poverty. As a child in the 70’s I remember the slums
and ghettos that weren’t too far from where I lived.In Costa Rica the slums start out towards the
middle of the hill and then deteriorates the further you drive down. Our team had spent the previous day sightseeing
and that morning at an upscale church in another part of town before we took
the tour of Pavas.As our taxi van
descended down the hill it felt comfortable to look out the window and take in
the surroundings.I made eye contact
with several of the locals as our van passed comfortably by carrying us rich
Americans with all our valuables placed nonchalantly in our laps.I didn’t mind looking at the poverty of their
houses. I wasn’t affected by the trash littering nearly every inch of road.The stray dogs digging through garbage bags
didn’t move me.The toddlers and
preschoolers playing in a blow-up swimming pool on the side of the road didn’t
make me feel sorry for them.The three
drug dealers on the side of the road didn’t especially scare me. But then it
happened.I looked into the eyes of a
woman walking on the side of the road and God got a hold of me. Something in
her eyes made me feel shame for who I was sitting in that van touring an area
where they call home.It happened so
fast and yet it was so profound. I didn’t feel superior to her, if anything I
felt lower than her.Is that how God see me?Shielded by my Goodwill clothes that are
still designer-labeled, my body cleanly showered and hair pulled back neatly,
with my iPhone 6 tucked in my Nike bag and old Croc sandals? I didn’t feel that I deserved better than this woman yet I’m offered opportunities and options that this
woman can’t even dream of. How do you make peace with that?Why am I in the van and her on the street? I felt this wave of uneasiness that didn’t let
up.Our van turned the corner and we could see La Carpio in the distance, a place worse than the one we were in. All of a sudden it got very real.This place was sobering not just because of
the way it looked or smelled, it was also the way it felt. I felt something
deep in my bones that I still can’t describe.Even from a distance it was hard to look at and imagine what life is
like there.

La Carpio

The ride back to the hotel
was nearly silent.How do you ever feel
comfortable again surrounded by luxury?

Monday

I dreaded the first day at the Hope Center. Up until Monday
the whole thing felt more like a vacation than a mission trip. Now it was time
to work, and I didn’t know if I was up to the task.I felt like someone holier or more loving
should be there in my place.I was an
imposter. I was someone who liked the idea of a mission trip more than the
reality of it.

We entered the building
and looked around.Not so bad I thought.

Inside Hope Center

We
found out what needed to be done and we were left to tackle it anyway we saw
fit.I immediately gravitated toward
sorting clothes that people had donated.It was an easy job that allowed my mind to wonder.Who
donated these clothes? Who will end up with them? Is that why it’s hard to tell
who the poor kids are? They are dressed in Justice and Tommy Hilfiger clothes?As I continued to work, I
noticed that my kids were working too. James was moving furniture and mopping,
the girls were wiping walls and then came and joined me, and Dennis was starting a painting project.Humph… nobody works that willingly at our
house I noted to myself.

Emily and Kat sorting clothes by size and gender.

Eventually the
kids started trickling in and it was time to serve lunch.Because of the jobs that needed to get done
in the morning, no one was helping the women in the kitchen and they had
prepared the meal as they have done every day for the past 20 years.The three of us moms were tasked with placing
the food on the plates and the kids were asked to bring the trays out and serve
the children.The Hope Center serves
about 200 children a day so as you can imagine it’s no small task.I stood in front of a large vat of freshly
made spaghetti and green bean concoction while my fellow moms served rice,
beans, and salad.

Rice and spaghetti

First one plate was
filled, then another, and another… tears welled up in my eyes.It was unexpected and unexplainable.Somehow the meaning of this trip flooded
through me.We are here to serve, and I
was literally serving one scoop of spaghetti at a time.How can such a mundane task bring so much
joy, so much meaning, and so much pleasure?Plate after plate, with tired arms and an aching back, the pleasure
never stopped.When lunch was over the
clean up commenced immediately.I was
stationed in front of a make-shift sink with a dirty sponge, solid soap
container, and cold water.I washed for
an hour.It was not fun but the
appreciation I had for what these women accomplish every day went through the
roof.How can they do it? Why do they do
it?Unanswered questions.

Around 2:00 pm the children started to come
back for our quasi-VBS experience.It
was the first time I got to intermingle with them.Prior to this I had been in the kitchen.I was nervous to interact with the kids as I
spoke no Spanish, had little heart for entertaining children, and wasn’t sure
if I might “catch” some childhood annoyance such as lice or who knows what
else.I hung back as the group started
singing.

Singing kid songs in Spanish and English.

I noticed a girl in the back
sitting alone. She had the most gorgeous long hair. She seemed a little older and perhaps more
sophisticated. I went down and sat next
to her, saying nothing at first. A few
minutes later I asked her name (the one Spanish sentence I learned). She said, “Carla”. I touched her hair and said, “bonita”. As I sat there stealing glances at her
beauty, especially her pristine hair that fell to her lower back, it occurred
to me that this was not a good thing. How long will it be? I thought. How many years does she have before her fate
will be decided? Will she have a say in
it? Is she already being groomed? In plain terms, will this girl become a child
prostitute, or is she perhaps already one?”
My heart sank. I don’t know her
story. I may never know her story. But in that moment, what I could do is be
someone who wants nothing from her. I could be someone with a warm smile who
can sit next to her and keep her company so she doesn’t have to sit alone. It seemed like such a small task, but I
wanted to do it as best as I could. So I
sat with her.

Carla's beautiful long hair.

Tuesday

The next day came and I had more confidence.I knew where we were going, what it would be
like, and why we were there.I was asked
to help in the kitchen which compared to being in the sun painting a wall, it
seemed like a dream job.I entered the
kitchen not being able to say a word beyond “hola”.I was handed a knife, cutting board, and some
vegetables.I watched as they
demonstrated what I needed to do.Please don’t let me cut myself I thought.
What a burden I’d be if I had to go for
stitches!

Everything is cooked from scratch with fresh veggies from the market.

I started chopping as I
quietly observed the women.Each time
someone new entered the kitchen they were greeted and kissed on the cheek.No one was overly enthusiastic in a fake
American way, yet no one was grumpy or stressed or rushed, or anything else
suggesting they’d rather be somewhere else. They all worked together on
different tasks consulting each other from time to time and perhaps sharing a
detail from the day before.I had no
idea what we were making but everyone else seemed to and the kitchen ran like
clock work.After a few hours of
chopping and preparing, it was time to serve.Again, the three of us moms took our places in front of the vats of food
and carefully scooped out the exact amount the ladies had demonstrated for us.Tray after tray went out and in its place
more dirty dishes came back.

The plates and cups went out full and came back empty.

We worked
hard and moved fast, but never in a stressful frenetic way, but rather in an
organized purposeful way.I couldn’t
help but think of the kitchen as a perfectly oiled machine, working with many
hands and many hearts to accomplish such a task.At the end of service, we started on the
dishes.

The kids and mom's took turns doing dishes.

There were many to wash, many to dry, and many to put away.The task wasn’t done until the last thing was
put in its place.Again I asked myself, how is it that no one is getting sick?
There is no hot water, dirty sponges, and dishes being washed by so many
different people with different ideas of what’s clean.

Sink to wash pots and pans and dishes.

Is it possible that we in America have become
so germ-o-phobic that we drive ourselves crazy with ultra cleanliness?

After clean up the women made us workers a
special and different meal.Each and
every day they’d pull out the finer plastic china and utensils and real glasses
for us Gringos.The food was fantastic
and never disappointed us.

Special lunches made fresh for the Gringos.

When the meal
was over, we’d sneak back to the kitchen and wash the dishes we had just
used.The cycle never ended but no one
complained.Meanwhile in the next rooms
the dental clinic was underway.This was
the first time many of these children (and some of the women in the kitchen)
had ever been to a dentist.The first
day was just to check the kids’ teeth and the second was to do the more
complicated procedures and the cleanings.

Rooms set up with dentist chairs.

While the kids waited, our team did the best we could to entertain the
kids. There was something different about these kids in Pavas. First of all,
they were physically tough, meaning that they were able to play hard, get
bumped or bruised, but not cry in the corner. They laughed it off and kept
playing.I don’t know if that was a good
thing because it suggests that what they experience outside of the Hope Center
is much worse than a few bruises from indoor soccer.Next, they were starved for physical
attention and affection. Many of them jumped on our backs and wanted to be
carried around.

Kids always wanting a ride.

They craved anything to be touched lovingly or be paid
attention to.Another observation is
that these kids were loving to each other.It’s not that I didn’t witness some pushing and shoving between kids,
but when it came down to it, these kids looked to each other for comfort and
protection. They were bonded in ways far beyond what I usually see between
siblings and friends.Finally, these
kids wanted to play.More than anything,
they wanted to have fun.

Kids doing what they loved best: play time!

I can’t imagine
the hardships they face outside of the Hope Center, but inside these wall they
have permission to be kids.Speaking of
that, it was on Tuesday that I met Lispby (Leslie) and her sister Kimber
(Kimberly).They were as tight as two
sisters can be.

Kimberly (left) and Leslie (right)

Kimberly clung to her
big sister like she was her only source of comfort.I’m guessing they are probably half sisters
as Lispby has much darker skin than her much lighter sister.Again, Kimberly is another little girl that
is so cute and has such beautiful curly hair that it makes me afraid for her
future and she is only 4 or 5 years old.I befriended the pair by just sitting with them and smiling at
them.It seems to be the universal
language for friendship.

Kimberly

We made necklaces, colored bible story pages, and
kicked the ball around.These girls will
be in my heart forever.As the day
closed at the Hope Center, we watched several of the kids walk down the hill
further into the slums where I presume their homes are.It was strange to see them leave.

The view from inside the Hope Center walls looking down the hill.
There is no one around in this picture but the cars, trucks, and motorbikes careen down the hill quite fast.

They weren’t
picked up by their mothers. They weren’t upset or crying as they left. They
were just existing as they always have and I suspect will continue to do
so.It was such a strange sight. In
America you wouldn’t dream of sending such little kids out to walk dangerous
streets alone and here no one is expecting them at home or looking out for
their personal safety. They must navigate the busy street alone doing the best
they can.In some ways it made me sad
for our country that we have become so driven by fear that we can’t bare to
allow our fully capable teens to go anywhere alone yet these little elementary
school kids can walk through crime, drug, and gang infested streets and do just
fine.It is in these moments that the
slums are teaching me where I have room for improvement.

Wednesday

By the third day at the Hope Center I felt like I was part
of the team.I greeted the women with a
kiss, took a knife from the drawer and began chopping garlic and the largest carrot I've ever seen.

Wow... that's a big carrot!

Shortly after one of the women came in
speaking Spanish while pointing at her shirt and giving a disgusted look. It
was so funny because her sentiments translated perfectly.She was unhappy with the color of her shirt
and wanted a different one.A few
minutes later she left and came back wearing a pink t-shirt and a big
smile.I guess you can say some things
are just understood.The morning
continued on with lots of painting outside and chopping inside.

Someone had the idea to put handprints on the
outside columns of the Hope Center in each color that represented the logo on
the sign outside.

This sign is on the outside wall of the Hope Center.

At first the idea was
to use a child-sized hand as a model for all the hands, but then someone
suggested we ask the women in the kitchen if they would like to add their handprints
too.Turns out they were delighted and
each chose their favorite color and placed it lovingly on the walls.

Vanessa (in a pink shirt instead of yellow) adding her handprint to the wall.

Before long we drew quite a crowd and the
children all wanted a turn at placing their mark on the wall.

This little girl was the daughter of one of the women in the kitchen.

Back home it might have been a non-memorable
event, but here in Pavas where most things are dirty and unkempt it was a great
display of pride in ownership and genuine effort to make things just a little
bit nicer for the kids.

The blue paint is new and the handprints make it colorful.

The lunch
service that day was bitter sweet.There
was hardly time to ponder that this would be our last time serving because
there was so much dishwashing to do.That
really sums up a lot of experiences at the Hope Center… there is so much to do
that processing the meaning behind each task has to wait for another time.

Another healthy hot lunch.

Around 2:00pm the kids came back to the
center for our “esquala” (little school).A few of our team members sang songs in the front while the rest of us
mingled with the kids who were sitting on the sidelines.

I went and sat next to two girls who were
alone.

I don't know their names but they loved looking at pictures on my iPhone.

I asked their names but they were
so soft spoken it was hard to hear.I
was having a hard time connecting so I pulled out my phone and showed them a
few random pictures.When I got to one
of a swimming pool at Disney World the girls took a quick breath and exhaled,
“booo-nitaaaa!!”I couldn’t decide in
that moment if it was a good thing or bad thing to show them pictures.
That’s the kind of thing that comes to mind when working with these kids. My
main thought was do no harm, so I put my phone away and I encouraged them to
listen to the story.After craft time
the kids wanted to play games in the main room.Their favorites were freeze-tag, soccer, and anything having to do with
being spun around in circles. A little
boy and girl performed a patty-cake type game/song for us.It reminded me of something I would have done
in my childhood.

Then the same little boy grabbed two cups and started to do
the cup song.Emily and Katherine joined
in and before you knew it all cultural and language boundaries were down and
the only language needed was laughter. I love thinking back on those moments.

The moments that are harder to describe and
are more painful to think about are the final ones.I went into the kitchen to say goodbye and
could not contain my tears. They were ones of gratitude for being patient with
us Gringos who cut and washed so much slower than they did. It was tears of joy
for having had such an amazing experience with them. It was tears of sorrow
knowing that I won’t see them again for a long time and perhaps never. It was
tears of appreciation knowing that they will continue to feed the children
daily doing God’s work with little reward.These women taught me so much in three short days.They taught me that working together makes
things go faster. That each one has something they could teach to each other.
They taught me that working towards a common goal is more meaningful than doing
it alone. They taught me that chopping things up really small is a good thing. And
they taught me that pail yellow isn’t a good color shirt for women with dark
hair and dark skin.I don’t know these
women’s personal stories, but I know they give of themselves selflessly every
day and I know these women can cook!The
children of Pavas are blessed to have them. As the van pulled away for the last time,
several of the children came running along side of it.I don’t think there was a dry-eye in the
bunch as we rode back to the hotel in silence.

It’s been three days since I’ve been back from Costa
Rica.They say jumping back into your
old life might be difficult.I’d say
it’s nearly impossible because you don’t come back as the same person. The same
challenges might await, the same stressors are burdensome and the daily grind
doesn’t let up, but somehow everything is different.I’d like to say I’m more patient, tender
hearted, and connected, but so far I’ve been frustrated, annoyed, and
discontent. I want some things to be
like they were in Costa Rica and I wish some things would be like it is in
America for the kids in Pavas. I find myself looking
around at things and thinking they aren’t important yet I can’t change the way
our culture does things.I know I want
to go back. I know it was the most rewarding and enjoyable experiences of my
life, but I’m not sure yet how to incorporate what I learned into daily life
here.

I think about the kids in Pavas all
the time. I think about the women in the kitchen and wonder what they are
serving for lunch. I look at my fast paced hectic luxurious life and I search
for the meaning beyond the obvious things.I wonder if that’s what happens when you take a trip like this… your
heart ends up in two different worlds.Maybe that’s what God wants for us. To place our heart in as many
world’s as possible. Can you imagine God knowing the details of the lives of
every person on every inch of this planet?I have lots of things to contemplate and I wish I could say this will
end in a neat and tidy way with a scripture verse and some profound truth.It won’t.The bottom line is that I’m still trying to figure it out, but I know
I’m thankful that God got a hold of my heart. I’m glad that the seed of being uncomfortable in a comfortable world was
planted and watered. And I’m glad I got to became ‘that person’ who goes on a
mission trip.

Sites I Love to Visit

About Me

I'm a homeschooling mom to three wonderful kiddos and wife to my favorite pilot Dennis. We currently call the Space Coast our home and are spending each day living for the Lord as best we can. Our favorite family hobbies include swimming in the backyard, hiking, downhill skiing, and traveling the U.S..